The Campus Trilogy (25 page)

‘Isn't that the place that got into trouble with the Quality Assurance Agency?' Harry asked. ‘I read they went into
partnership
with hundreds of rather disreputable institutions. They took their money, did very little checking on the standard of education offered and scattered Fandonegal degrees about like confetti to all their graduates. I read about it in the
Times Higher
Educational Supplement
last winter.'

‘The article came out just after Flanagan was appointed to St Sebastian's and had given in his notice,' I replied. ‘But in any event the whole story died down. Certainly nothing was ever done about it. And it would have made no difference to
St Sebastian's anyway. Our University Council was interested in one thing and one thing only. Flanagan was said to be the
moving
spirit in getting Fandonegal out of the red – the place had a deficit of over ten million pounds when he started. There was even talk of closure. Now Fandonegal has a very healthy
operating
profit. All due to him. No one on the Council was interested in the man's scholarship, or his wisdom or his tact in human
relationships
. They were all dazzled by his financial wizardry. The rumour is he was the unanimous first choice.'

‘Let me get this straight,' said Harry. ‘When he was at Fandonegal, he made deals with various colleges of higher
education
world-wide, promising to give them degrees for their courses without too many questions asked. In return they paid Fandonegal a proportion of the students' fees. And I suppose because they could offer Fandonegal degrees, the colleges could attract more students? Was that how it worked?'

‘It sounds a jolly good wheeze!' observed Sir William. ‘Why doesn't everyone do it? My college at Cambridge is always
asking
me for money. Why don't they just give out degrees to all these other places?'

‘Trinity doesn't give degrees, Daddy,' explained Victoria patiently. ‘You have your degree from the University, from Cambridge. And Cambridge still has some standards.'

‘Didn't I read that somewhere like the Clapham Happy Clappy Institute of Evangelical African Theology got validated by Fandonegal?', Harry asked.

‘So did the Fort William Tartan Institute of Contemporary Folkdance,' I said.

Victoria laughed. ‘So you can get a degree in Scottish reeling now.'

‘Well,' I said, ‘I imagine it's like Sports Studies. They dress it up with some anthropology and physiology and history. It may be that the Fort William Institute is highly respectable and
scholarly
, but certainly the educational system in Britain has improved no end if the students of all the institutions Fandonegal validated are worthy of BAs.'

‘Who does the judging anyway?' asked Sir William. He spoke as if the giving of degrees was like the awarding of rosettes in an agricultural show.

‘Well, that's just the point,' I tried to explain. ‘If a university goes into a partnership with a college of further education, there should be very careful procedures to check that the students of the college achieve the same standard of scholarship as the
students
in the university. So all essays and exams should be double marked, once by the staff from the college and once by the
academics
from the university.'

‘And this wasn't happening?' asked Victoria.

‘Apparently there was a very cursory system of moderation. According to a
Times Higher Ed
. article, Fandonegal was
basically
taking the money and no questions asked. But anyway the whole thing died down.'

‘But what about the Quality Assurance Agency?' asked Victoria.

‘Well no one takes as much notice of the Quality Assurance Agency as they should,' said Harry, ‘And when all's said and done, money is money.'

Victoria frowned, ‘It's still disgraceful,' she said, as she refilled our teacups.

I continued. ‘Anyway, when the article came out, everyone became apprehensive about Flanagan's plans for St Sebastian's. We hope he won't want us to go around validating disreputable institutions. We just don't have time to do it properly.'

‘Has anyone met him?' Harry asked.

‘Actually a number of us have. His interview took place in the Arts Building, and several of us were having coffee in the corridor next to the kitchen. The Registrar brought him and his wife over, and he introduced us.'

‘He brought his wife?' Victoria asked. ‘Is that normal?'

‘I think the appointments committee wanted to meet her. She's much younger than he is and German by background. Flanagan met her when he was doing some research on the revival of the motor industry in Europe after the Second World War. Her father is a senior executive with Mercedes-Benz.'

‘And …?' Harry asked.

‘Well, to tell the truth, he doesn't look very impressive. He's short, about five foot two I would think, very fat and rather bald. Barraclough at least looked handsome and distinguished. Flanagan nearly crushed my fingers when I shook his hand. His
wife followed about three feet behind him. She looked terrified, rather a mousy little woman I thought. They also brought a nasty little Irish terrier with them who bit the Registrar when they left.'

Harry laughed. ‘Well that's one good mark for him. I longed to bite poor old Registrar Sloth on several occasions!'

‘Damned undisciplined dogs, terriers,' commented Sir William. ‘Little buggers always bite. Tell your Vice-Chancellor he should have a border collie. They're clever dogs! Can't do without them on the farm! Never let one down …'

‘Speaking of the Registrar,' I said, ‘you'll be interested to know that there's trouble between him and his wife. You remember Jenny Sloth who works, or rather who does not work, in the library?'

Harry looked at Victoria and they smiled at each other. ‘Of course I remember her,' he said ‘I had a serious run-in with her in my last year. She was one of the reasons we left St Sebastian's.'

‘Well apparently,' I continued, ‘Sloth is now involved with one of the secretaries in the Registry, Joy Pickles. Did you ever come across her?' Harry frowned and shook his head.

‘She's a blousy blonde who works in the admissions office. She's every bit of thirty years younger than he is, but he has thrown caution to the wind and from all accounts is completely besotted. She drives him into the university every morning and he has set her up in her own house, where presumably he is living too. It's all love's young dream.'

‘But what's happened to poor old Jenny?' asked Victoria.

‘Well she stays in her job in the library and does even less work than before. At the start of last term I ordered some books for one of my courses and they still haven't arrived. But when I
complained
, she just wiped her eyes, said everyone was being horrible to her and disappeared into a back room. I hadn't the heart to take it further.'

‘Oh dear,' said Victoria. ‘I wonder how all this will go down with the new Vice-Chancellor. After all the Registrar is very senior in the university'

‘Who knows? The real problem is Joy Pickles. Clearly Sloth has a weakness for incompetent women. Joy has always been hopeless at her job. The rumour is that she was on a final
warning
, but now, of course everyone is treating her with kid gloves.
As far as the Registrar is concerned she can do no wrong. Heaven knows what admissions will be like. Probably next year we will have no students at all!'

‘Well it's all go at St Sebastian's.' Harry got up to circulate the sherry decanter. ‘I understand you also had an election for Dean?'

‘Yes,' I said, ‘There was a contest between John Pilkington who is still Head of the Department of Theology and the
revisionist
historian Patricia Parham.'

‘Oh yes,' Harry replied. ‘We heard John lost. He must have been disappointed.'

‘He was. It was a very close-run thing. I'm sure you know that Parham is a militant lesbian. Her long-term partner is a
crackerjack
car mechanic. I don't know her, but over the years she has built up quite a custom among the university staff and she made it clear that she would no longer repair the cars of any member of staff who did not vote for Parham. I think it was a joke, but John was devastated and said it wasn't fair. Maybe it didn't make any difference anyway, but Parham did win the election and there wasn't anything he could do about it. So he continues as Head of the Theology department.'

Victoria was delighted with the news. She had never liked Pilkington. She told the story about Harry's friend Magnus. He had been a lecturer in Old Testament at St Sebastian's. He had had a large win on the premium bonds and had left the same term as Harry. While he was still at the university, Patricia's partner had repaired his flat tyre. Since it was an act of kindness, Magnus did not feel he could pay her, so he invited her to go to a dance with him at the White Hart Hotel. The mechanic was so outraged by such a sexist invitation that she lashed out at him and gave him a black eye!

‘Perhaps Patricia felt guilty about it,' I said. ‘I understand that, as Dean, she wrote to Magnus in the spring asking if he would like to come back to teach a Hebrew course for the
undergraduates
. At that point he was still on his world cruise. He has now apparently got a dancing job on the ship in the New Year as a gentleman host but he's agreed to fill in this coming term.'

‘Magnus told us,' Harry said. ‘He sent us an email about it last week. He's still recovering from his last cruise; he was continually
beseiged by octogenarians who insisted on him being their
partner
every evening. But he is now such a good dancer that the entertainment director on the ship offered him a job. Magnus said he's signed up for the Christmas Caribbean Cruise leaving from Southampton in December. But before that he's going back to St Sebastian's. To his suprise, he rather misses teaching.'

‘He was outstandingly good at it,' I pointed out. ‘His courses were always popular.'

Sir William was preoccupied with other matters. ‘How much did he win? I've got the full quota of premium bonds, but I've never won more than five hundred in one month. How many does your friend have?'

‘Only about a hundred and he won a quarter of a million,' Victoria said. ‘It was a Christmas present from his aunt. But Daddy, he really needed the money so he could retire. And after all, you've just won quite a lot playing blackjack.'

‘Bloody Hell,' Sir William said. ‘A quarter of a million … I wonder how he did it. Did he read a book on how to win?'

‘There's no such book, Daddy. It's pure chance. Magnus was just lucky. Now, why don't you eat another piece of this nice fruit cake?'

‘I think I will. And some of whatever is in that decanter.'

Victoria poured her father more sherry as I continued the saga of St Sebastian's. ‘We're also due to have a new chaplain. An Anglican friar, no less! He will teach one course, and will also run the chapel. Apparently he's very high church and is all set to introduce incense and candles.'

‘I wonder how that'll go down with the new Vice-Chancellor. He presumably is still a Roman Catholic?' asked Harry.

‘I shouldn't think with his experience of the Roman Church that he's anything at all,' remarked Victoria tartly. ‘But a friar in religious orders … that sounds exciting. Poverty, Chastity, Obedience and all that.'

‘Well it's all a bit mysterious …' I said doubtfully. ‘The University offered him lodgings in the Old Building, but he said he would be living in town. It turns out he's bought an enormous property on a brand-new, very expensive estate. The rumour is he's moving in with his housekeeper. Perhaps friars are very rich nowadays.'

‘Are you sure he's still a member of the order?' asked Victoria. ‘Lots of monks and friars have left and now are just ordinary priests.'

‘No,' I said. ‘I saw his curriculum vitae. It makes it quite clear he's still under discipline.'

‘Perhaps the house belongs to the housekeeper?' suggested Harry.

‘Nonsense!' boomed Sir William. ‘She wouldn't be his
housekeeper
then. You mark my words. I know these High Church johnnies. I won't have them in our church. Short sermons and proper hymns like “Onward Christian Soldiers” and “Fight the Good Fight” is what you need. These bells and smells fellows aren't to be trusted with anything.'

‘How exciting!' said Victoria. ‘I almost wish we were back!'

After tea Harry took me for a walk around the grounds that he shared with the Thomas Jefferson Porpoise mansion. We crossed over a small bridge and came across Thomas Jefferson himself, a spare, silver-haired gentleman dressed in a dark blazer with a Porpoise crest. He was walking a morose-looking beagle. Harry introduced us and explained that I was a former colleague of his at St Sebastian's and that I was attending a conference in Washington. Thomas Jefferson accompanied us back to Harry's house, but refused to come in since he was due to fly to Nantucket that evening to spend the weekend with his
stockbroker
and his family.

Victoria was chatting to her father in the kitchen when we arrived back. She was making very desultory preparations for dinner. I was worried about this. In spite of the excellent
fruitcake
, I was hungry. However, as soon as we sat down, there was another knock on the front door. A vast black woman dressed in an apron was admitted and was introduced to us as Lucille. She was Thomas Jefferson's cook and she had been co-opted to feed us. Victoria followed her into the kitchen, as Harry passed around the sherry decanter again.

It was not long before the four of us were sitting down at a round mahogany table in the charming dining room. The
chair-seats
matched the curtains and were of a soft rose chintz. The table had taken on the mellow, deep polish which comes only from decades of elbow grease and the matching mahogany
sideboard was decorated with a brass rail and small velvet
curtains
. Dinner was delicious and was served by Lucille. There was southern chicken, fried bananas, crisp bacon, corn fritters and fresh peas accompanied by a chilled California wine.